Now, when the dispatches announcing the grace examination reached Huguang1, they roused a man of great learning. And who, you may ask, was he? He lived in Anshan Village, in the south of Jiangxia County, Wuchang Prefecture, in Huguang, and his name was Fan Zhongyu. He had a wife, Madam Bai, named Yulian, and a son called Jinge, ‘Golden Boy’, just seven years old: a family of three, getting by from day to day. A scholar of wide learning and some renown he might be, but he was a poor one. Times were hard for the household, and they had barely enough to keep themselves fed. One day he came home from his literary society2 sighing and groaning, gloomy and out of sorts. When Madam Bai saw him, she could not think what was the matter with her husband — had he perhaps quarrelled with someone? She went up to him and asked, “Husband, you’ve come home from your literary society so unhappy today. Why?” “There’s something you don’t know, my dear,” said Fan. “Today I met my fellow students at the society, but we never got round to our essays. One after another, I saw them packing their bags and bustling about to set off. So I asked them, ‘What’s all this hurry? Where are you off to?’ And my fellow students said, ‘What? Brother Fan, haven’t you heard? His Majesty, by a rare act of grace beyond the usual, has added a grace examination, and the dispatches reached this province long ago. If even we are going to sit it, how much more should you, Brother Fan! Once you get to the capital, you’re sure to stand alone on the turtle’s head3.’ When I heard that, all the heart went out of me, and I came home. My dear, you can see our house is as bare as if it had been washed clean. How could a poor student like me ever get to the capital to sit the examination?” And with that he heaved a long sigh in spite of himself. “So that’s what it is, husband,” said Madam Bai. “As I see it, there’s no use fretting over this. I’ve had the same thing in mind myself for a long time. It is several years now since I parted from my mother, and I had always planned that when you went to the capital for the examination, I would set out with you: for one thing, you would sit the examination, and for another, I could visit my mother while we were there. But things don’t go as we would wish, and times are hard, so there’s nothing for it but to put it out of our minds.” She said a good deal more to comfort her husband. Fan thought it over: it was, after all, a thing no amount of fretting would mend, and he had no choice but to let it go.

Early the next morning, while they were still washing and combing their hair, there came a knock at the gate. Fan hurried out and opened it, and there stood Liu Hongyi, an old friend who truly understood him. Fan was overjoyed. Hand in hand, the two of them went into the thatched cottage. Since Liu Hongyi was an old man, and loyal and upright besides, Madam Bai had never withdrawn4 when he called, and now she came forward and paid her respects to Uncle Liu. Jinge came too and bowed to him with his hands joined, and Old Liu was delighted. Each politely pressed the other to take a seat, and tea was brewed. “I’ve come today on purpose to talk something over with you, brother,” said Old Liu. “His Majesty, by a rare act of grace beyond the usual, has added a grace examination. Did you know?” “I only learned of it yesterday, at the literary society,” said Fan. “Since you know, brother,” said Old Liu, “what do you mean to do?” Fan sighed. “Other people I might keep it from, but with you, my old friend, how could I dare tell a lie? You can see my house is as bare as a hanging chime5. What am I to do?” And as he spoke, a wave of sadness came over him. Seeing this, Old Liu said, “Don’t take on so, brother. But how much would the journey to the capital cost?” “When it comes to that,” said Fan, “it’s harder still.” And he told him what Madam Bai had said the day before about wanting to visit her mother while they were there. Old Liu listened, nodding again and again. “Nothing in this life is greater than filial duty. That is only right. So, reckoning it all up, how much would it come to?” “Yesterday I worked it out carefully,” Fan replied. “If the three of us were to go to the capital together, all the expenses would come to seventy or eighty taels at the very least. How could I raise that all at once? There’s nothing for it but to let it go.” Old Liu heard him out and pondered for a long while. “In that case,” he said, “let me go and see what I can arrange for you. If it works out, wouldn’t that be a fine thing?” Fan thanked him again and again. Old Liu got to his feet to leave, but Fan would not hear of letting him go: he must stay and eat. “Eating is a small matter,” said Old Liu. “I’m only afraid of holding up the real business. Let me get back early — the important thing is to set things moving.” So Fan did not press him to stay, and saw him out through the wicker gate. As they parted, Old Liu said, “Tomorrow, then. Be sure to stay at home, brother, and wait for word from me.” And with that he said goodbye and went on his way.

Fan came back from seeing Old Liu off, glad and rueful at once: glad that things had fallen out so luckily, rueful that his own hardship should be a burden on his friend. Then he and Madam Bai spent a while making plans, clutching at shadows in the air. The next day Fan was on pins and needles; he could neither sit nor stand still, and every moment he was watching for Old Liu. At long last, when it was nearly noon, there came a knock at the gate. Fan hurried to open it, and in came Old Liu, leading a black donkey, his face streaming with sweat, puffing and panting. “What a donkey!” he said. “I haven’t ridden him for so long, he’s taken to playing up. All the way here he’s worn this old man out — I’m sweating from head to foot.” Still talking, they went into the house together and sat down. “Happily, it’s all arranged,” said Old Liu. “This is your lucky chance, brother.” As he spoke, he went out and took the money bag off the donkey, brought it in and put it on the table; then he took out two sealed packets of silver and laid them on the bed. “Here are a hundred taels of silver,” he said. “Now you and your good lady can take my little nephew and go to the capital.” Fan was overjoyed beyond all his hopes. “How could we ever use so much?” he said. “And besides, I don’t know how you came to borrow it, my old friend. I beg you, tell me plainly.” Old Liu laughed. “Don’t worry so, brother. I borrowed this silver from a good friend of mine, and there’s no interest on it; and even if there were, I’d see to that myself. Besides, it may be a lot of silver, but just take it. As the saying goes, ‘Be poor at home, but rich on the road.’ And — to say something unlucky — if you should fail the examination, you can stay on in the capital and spare yourself the long journey there and back. Next year is the regular examination. Wouldn’t that save a lot of trouble? It’s always better to have something to spare.” Fan could see the sense in this. He knew how open-handed Old Liu was, so he did not thank him; he only engraved the kindness on his heart. “And whatever you need for setting out, brother,” Old Liu went on, “that ought to be seen to as well.” “Now that we have the silver,” said Fan, “that’s easily done.” “In that case, brother, work out exactly what you need,” said Old Liu. “I won’t go home today; I’ll go into town with you and get your things for the road. Tomorrow is a yellow-path day6, as lucky as they come — you ought to set off then.” So Fan and Old Liu led the black donkey out through the wicker gate and went straight to the market to buy what they needed for the journey, while Madam Bai, at home, got together the things they would take. In the evening Old Liu came back with Fan, and together they packed the baggage, bustling about until the third watch before they stopped. All the everyday things about the house, and the house itself, were left in Old Liu’s care. Old Liu was getting on in years — how could he sleep? And Fan, with the next day’s journey on his mind, could not rest either. So the two of them sat talking, and Old Liu gave him a great deal of advice, every word of which Fan took carefully to heart.

Day was just breaking when the cart came, and they hurried to load the baggage. Madam Bai bowed her farewell to Uncle Liu, and the tears came before she knew it. Mother and son climbed into the cart. Then Old Liu said, “Brother, there’s something I want to say to you.” He pointed to the black donkey. “I’ve kept this donkey for many years. Now I’m giving him to you. Ride him to the capital.” “Since it is your gift, my old friend,” said Fan, “I dare not refuse.” Fan led the black donkey out through the wicker gate. The two men clasped hands; they could not tear themselves apart, could not bear to say goodbye. Fan wept so hard that he could not get a word out. In the end it was Old Liu who hardened his heart. “Please mount, brother,” he said, “and forgive me for not seeing you any farther.” With that he went straight back in through the wicker gate, and Fan had no choice but to go, his heart full of sorrow. Back at the cottage, Old Liu locked up the doors and kept watch over the house. But of that, no more for now.

Our story follows Fan on his way to the capital. It was the usual round — on the road at dawn and resting at night, eating when hungry and drinking when thirsty — and they reached the capital safe and sound, found lodgings and settled the family in. Fan wanted to go straight off to Wanquan Mountain to look for his mother-in-law, but it was Madam Bai who held him back. “There’s no need to be in such a hurry, husband,” she said. “It was for the examinations that we came, after all. Better to wait until they’re over and everything is done; it won’t be too late to go then. For one thing, it has been several years, and once we’re there, there are bound to be all sorts of calls and courtesies to distract you. For now, rest your mind and gather your strength, and when the examinations are over, the boy and I will go with you. For another, we’ve been apart so long already — what difference will a little longer make?” Fan saw that she was right, so for the time being he turned his mind to the examinations, handing in his papers and his examination booklets.

The days of the examination drew near. As it happened, the chief examiner appointed by imperial command was the Chief Minister, Lord Bao — truly a man upright and impartial in everything, so that every abuse was swept away. When Fan had come through all three sessions7, he was very pleased with how he had done, and he thought: “My wife came with me in the first place to visit her mother. Before the examinations she was considerate of me, for fear I’d be distracted and wear myself out. Now that we have waited this long, if I am not considerate of her in turn — mother and daughter apart for years on end, and only a step from each other now — if I don’t bring them together, won’t that make me look heartless indeed?” So he saddled the black donkey and found a cart, on the understanding that it would take them to Wanquan Mountain and come straight back. Husband and wife, father and son, the three of them locked the door of their lodgings and made straight for Wanquan Mountain.

At Wanquan Mountain he sent the cart back and went up into the hills with his wife to look for her family’s home. He had thought that once they got there they would find it easily — but who would have guessed? He asked any number of passers-by, and none of them knew. Fan grew fretful in spite of himself and wished he had never sent the cart away. He had reckoned that once they reached Wanquan Mountain, even if there were a few more li to go, his wife could ride the donkey with the boy in her arms, and he could walk. How could he have foreseen that they would not be able to find the place at all? So he told his wife to rest with the boy on a slab of bluestone, turned the black donkey loose to graze, and strode off on his own, straight out through the eastern pass, asking everyone he met. Not a single one of them knew of any Bai family. He was thoroughly vexed and downcast; he was worried about his wife; and on top of that his legs ached. There was nothing for it but to trudge slowly back. But when he came back to the bluestone, Madam Bai and Jinge were nowhere to be seen. This was no small shock. Frantic, his eyes as round as golden bells, he looked out in every direction — but there was not so much as the shadow of a soul. By now he was shouting at the top of his voice before he knew it. Where his voice rang out, the hills resounded and the valleys answered — but who was there to answer him? He called for a long time, until his voice was hoarse and his mouth dry and the strength had gone out of him. Then he sat down on the stone and wept aloud.

In the midst of his grief and fear, he saw an old woodcutter coming along over there, and he hurried up to him. “Old sir,” he asked, “have you seen a woman with a little boy?” “A woman I did see,” said the woodcutter, “but there was no little boy.” “Where is she?” Fan asked at once. The woodcutter shook his head. “It’s an ugly story, sir. You won’t know this, but five li from this mountain there’s a village — Duhu Village, they call it — and in that village lives the Marquis of Weilie8, a man by the name of Ge Dengyun. He’s savage beyond anything, and he seizes women from the common people. Just now I saw him coming back from the hunt with a weeping woman slung across a horse, heading straight for his village.” At this Fan asked in haste, “Which way down the mountain is this village?” “To the south-east,” said the woodcutter. “See that clump of trees, far off over there? That’s the place.” Fan looked, and without so much as a word of farewell he went flying down the mountain and made for the village.

Why, you may ask, had Jinge vanished? Ge Dengyun had taken a band of his swaggering servants up into the hills to hunt for game, and out of the deep grass, as it happened, they had flushed a fierce tiger. Seeing so many men, each with a weapon in his hands, the tiger dared not stand and show its might; it fled down the mountain. Its way led right past the bluestone, and with one snap of its jaws it carried Jinge off, while the fright made Madam Bai faint dead away. Just then Ge Dengyun came down in pursuit of the tiger. The moment he saw Madam Bai, he had his men sling her over a horse and went back to his village. The tiger made off westward, over two small peaks one after the other. What it never reckoned on was a woodcutter up a tree over there, cutting branches. All at once he saw a fierce tiger with a small child in its jaws. Desperation gave him an idea: he took aim at the tiger’s head and flung the broadaxe in his hand down at it. It struck the tiger square on the back. Hit so suddenly by the axe, the tiger sagged in the middle and its jaws fell open, and the child dropped into the dust. Seeing the tiger was hurt, the woodcutter leapt down from the tree, and quick of hand and eye, he snatched up his carrying pole and gave it a blow across the haunches — and no light one. With a roar, the tiger bounded off over the ridge.

The woodcutter hurried to lift the child and held him in his arms. He was still breathing; and when the woodcutter looked him over, there were wounds, but none of them very bad. He called to him for a long time, and little by little the boy came round. The woodcutter’s heart was filled with joy. But he was afraid of meeting another wild beast — that would be no joke — so he held the boy tight. First he found his axe and tucked it into his belt; then he took up his carrying pole and made his way down the mountain, heading straight south-west until he came into Babao Village. Before long he reached his own door and called, “Mother, open the door! Your son is home!” Out came an old woman with half-white hair, who opened the door and cried out in spite of herself, “Oh my! Where have you brought this little boy back from?” “Let’s go inside first, Mother,” said the woodcutter, “and then I’ll tell you everything.” The old woman took the carrying pole from him and shut the door. The woodcutter went into the house and laid the boy gently on the bed. Then he pulled the axe out of his belt and said to the old woman, “Mother, is there any hot water? Bring some.” She hurried over with a cupful. The woodcutter raised the boy up and had him drink a little of the hot water, and only then did the child get his breath back. “Oh!” he cried. “I was scared to death!”

By now the old woman had come to look at him too. For all the dust and grime on him, he had fine brows and bright eyes, and her heart went out to him so that she hardly knew what to do with herself. The woodcutter told her how he had saved the boy from the tiger’s jaws. When the old woman heard it, she was more alarmed than ever. Stroking the boy, she said, “You’ve come out of the tiger’s mouth alive, so great good fortune lies ahead of you, riches and honours without end. Don’t be afraid. Take your time and tell me where your home is.” “My family name is Fan,” said the boy, “and I’m called Jinge. I’m seven years old.” Seeing how clearly he spoke, the old woman asked him, “And have you a father and mother?” “Yes, both of them,” said Jinge. “My father is called Zhongyu, and my mother’s family name is Bai.” At this the old woman was startled. “Where do you live?” she asked. “I’m not from the capital,” said Jinge. “We live in Anshan Village, in Jiangxia County, Wuchang Prefecture, in Huguang.” At that the old woman asked quickly, “Your mother — is her milk name9 Yulian, by any chance?” “Yes, it is,” said Jinge. At these words the old woman swept Jinge into her arms. “Oh! My precious little darling! You break my heart!” And she began to cry. Jinge stared, bewildered; he could not think why. The woodcutter beside them said, “Let me tell you, and then you needn’t stare. My name is Bai Xiong10. The Yulian she just asked about is my own elder sister. And this old lady is my mother.” “Then he’s my uncle,” said Jinge, “and you’re my grandmother!” And with that he flung his little arms around the old woman and burst into bitter tears himself.

To learn what happened next, read the next chapter.